Friday, November 28, 2008

The weather’s triggering chaos all over the place.Yet I’m beginning to love every move it makes.Imagine the gloomy mushroom like umbrellaTurning inside out to look like a blooming blossom over your head.

Listening to the wind howlAs it goes window shopping outside the room.Even a light drizzles gets swept off its feetBy the suave yet burly breeze.

There’s so much more to say, I’ve in fact left out a lot;Will continue with some more whenever I’m back.For now, I’m off to peer into the worldThrough the raindrops that cling to the clothesline on my terrace.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Sliding the big bolt of an old green gate, He stood on the lowest grill and pushed himself in.Sliding smoothly he moved forth with a creaking noise, Jumping off that rail he ran towards the doorbell.

He jumped as high as he could and struck the doorbell switch.Ammamma closed the gate and walked in after him.Once. Twice. Thrice. The bell rang and the door opened bit by bit.A smile with a pair of teeth peeping out welcomed them.

Puttu was excited to see his cousin Chethi after a long time.He was surprised to see Puttu standing at the door.He rushed in and they both jumped in joy. It was summer so they knew they’d spend the entire day, together.

They both ran to the showcase without wasting any time. Chethi was totally thrilled to show his Christmas gift, the toy plane.That very moment Puttu tried reaching it but the plane soared high.With eyes and mouth wide open he saw it fly in Chethi’s hand.

Smoothly it landed back in the showcase, That instant Puttu snatched it and ran holding it up.Chethi chased him till they reached the terrace.Tired and breathing heavily they gave up and settled on the stone bench.

The next plan was to make paper planes and set it on flight.Hunting down red ants and dropping them in empty jam jars, Then building a home for frogs with leftover bricks in the backyard; And bursting that box of crackers from last Diwali was also on their agenda.

Summer was their best time of the year.Time was what belonged to that old clock that hanged on the wall.The world moved at their pace and at times it would even wait. They had no plans nor did they rush for absolutely anything at all.

They had all the time in the world to while away.Little did they know that this season, once gone, would never return; Parallel lives and geographical boundaries would tear them apart. Maybe, deep down, they already knew that tomorrow’s ignorance is today’s bliss.

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Amit Charles B. aka Scribbler is an authentic Bangalorean (since 1982), who found and got hitched to his Muse recently. He now owns a scribble pad, a camera, a casual wardrobe and a detuned guitar with corroding strings.
And those of you who are interested in my work rather than my Apollo 13-attempt-at-a-funny- bio, flip the pages of my Scribble Pad.